Btadstone 


3SO0tow’0  tfixut  Xw&afcttattt 


SECOND  EDITION. 


Copyright,  1877. 

Rockwell  &  Churchill, 

Boston. 


Rockwell  &  Churchill,  Printers,  39  Arch  Street,  Boston. 


TO 


©lli  <£outf)  JHeettng  House : 


ONE  OF  THE  FEW  REMAINING  MONUMENTS  OF  OUR 
PROVINCIAL  PERIOD,  OF  EVENTS  AND  MEN  THAT 
HELPED  TO  ESTABLISH  OUR  NATIONAL 
INDEPENDENCE  AND  FREE  INSTITU¬ 
TIONS,  THIS  TRIBUTE  TO 
THE  MEMORY  OF 


THE  EARLIEST  INHABITANT  OF  BOSTON,  WHO  ALSO 
LOVED  LIBERTY,  CIVIL  AND  RELIGIOUS,  IS 


Ivespectfullg  Bctucatrti. 


“ESTO  PERPETUA.” 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS- 
AI  URBANA-CHAMPAIGil 


What  is  Known  of  Blackstone. 


For  several  years  previous  to  the  first  settlement  of  Boston, 
in  September,  1630,  William  Blackstone,  its  earliest  European 
inhabitant,  occupied  by  himself  what  formed  for  long  after¬ 
wards  the  principal  part  of  it,  the  peninsula  known  as 
Shawmut.  This  originally  comprised  an  area  of  about  eight 
hundred  acres,  since  more  than  doubled  by  accessions  from 
the  sea,  the  whole  with  much  besides  annexed  to  our 
city  from  the  country  round  about,  now  crowded  with  pop¬ 
ulation.  Blackstone,  a  man  of  learning,  an  ordained  min¬ 
ister  of  the  Church  of  England,  and,  consequently,  a  graduate 
of  one  of  its  universities,  unwilling  to  conform  to  ecclesiastical 
requirements  which  his  conscience  disapproved,  had  come  to 
America  “  to  get  from  under  the  power  of  the  lords  bishops. ” 
Here  he  dwelt,  solitary  and  alone,  raising  his  apples  and  roses, 
and  reading  his  books,  of  which  he  had  a  plentiful  supply. 

His  solitude  was  unpleasantly  disturbed  in  the  summer  of 
1630  by  the  arrival  at  Charlestown,  across  the  river,  of  Win- 
throp  and  his  company,  under  their  patent  of  March  4,  1629. 
Their  lives  in  peril  from  disease  engendered  by  exposure  and 
privation,  and  aggravated  by  the  impurity  of  the  water,  he 
generously  invited  them  over  to  share  with  him  the  more 
salubrious  spot  he  inhabited,  and  which  abounded  in  springs. 

Cheerfully  yielding  up  to  them  the  greater  part  of  his 
possessions,  he  was  contented  himself  to  retain  fifty  acres 
adjacent  to  the  spot  whereon  stood  his  house.  Our  story 
intimates  how  it  chanced  that,  a  few  years  afterwards,  “  find¬ 
ing  he  had  fallen  under  the  power  of  the  lords  brethren,”  he 
surrendered  this  lot  and  all  his  other  rights  within  the  then 
narrow  neck  of  land  connecting  the  peninsula  with  Roxbury, 


BURTON  HIST.  COLLECTION 
DETROIT 

EXCHANGE  DUPLICATE 


6  WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE. 


excepting  six  acres.  He  received  six  shillings  from  each 
householder,  and,  in  some  instances,  larger  sums  in  volun¬ 
tary  contributions,  for  this  release.  It  has  been  said  that  he 
disclaimed  any  other  title  but  that  of  first  discoverer  and  occu¬ 
pant,  but  this  release  shows  that  the  colonists  considered 
his  ‘title  to  some  extent,  at  least,  valid  or  equitable.  In  1623, 
the  Council  of  New  England  had  patented  to  Robert  Gorges 
ten  miles  along  the  north-east  shore  of  Massachusetts  Bay, 
by  thirty  inland,  with  all  islands,  not  previously  granted, 
within  three  miles  of  the  main  land.  Walford,  at  Charles¬ 
town  ;  Maverick,  on  what  is  now  East  Boston ;  Thompson, 
who  died  in  1628,  on  the  island  that  still  bears  his  name ; 
Blackstone,  at  Shawmut,  are  supposed  to  have  held  under  this 
patent,  and  been  pioneers  of  a  projected  plantation. 

Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges  had  received  large  grants  from  the 
Council  farther  north.  Interested  in  the  speedy  colonization 
of  the  country,  he  caused  his  son  Robert  to  surrender  his 
patent,  and  another  issued,  vesting  in  Winthrop  and  his 
associates  what  it  covered,  with  the  rest  of  Massachusetts, 
outside  the  limits  of  Plymouth,  to  the  western  sea.  John 
Blackstone,  a  member  of  Parliament,  appears  to  have  taken 
an  acflive  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  infant  plantations.  As 
one  of  a  parliamentary  committee,  in  1642,  he  invited  Cotton, 
Hooker,  and  Davenport  to  come  over  for  consultation  upon 
the  general  condition  of  the  realm.  As  one  of  the  Council,  he 
joined  in  a  power  to  William  Blackstone  to  deliver  seisin  under 
one  of  its  patents.  No  consanguinity  is  known  between  John 
and  William ;  but  their  bearing  the  same  name  justifies  the 
conjecture  that  such  existed ;  that  our  first  settler  did  a<5l- 
ually  possess  claims  entitled  to  compensation  for  their  relin¬ 
quishment;  and  that  John’s  position  in  the  Council  may  have 
led  William  to  take  up  his  residence  in  New  England,  when 
constrained  by  conscience  to  abandon  the  Church. 

Whereabouts,  precisely,  on  the  peninsula  was  his  dwell¬ 
ing-place  has  long  puzzled  our  historians.  Some  of  the  ear¬ 
lier  authorities  speak  of  his  residing  on  Blackstone’s  Point,  on 


WILLIAM  BLA  CHS  TOME .  7 


Cambridge  Bay,  opposite  the  mouth  of  Charles  River.  It 
seems  not  to  have  occurred  to  Shaw,  Snow,  Drake,  and  Shurt- 
leff  that  his  name  might  attach  at  that  period  to  all  Shawmut ; 
and,  regarding  Barton’s  Point  as  what  was  intended,  they 
located  his  house  variously  on  Poplar  or  Cambridge  streets 
or  a  mile  away  in  the  vicinity  of  Charlestown  Bridge.  The 
publication  of  Odlin’s  deposition,  dated  June  io,  1684,  re" 
corded  with  Suffolk  Deeds,  26-84,  as  to  Blackstone’s  release, 
discouraged  the  hope  that  further  information  might  be 
gleaned  by  examination  of  these  ancient  volumes.  The  cor¬ 
respondence  in  area  of  the  lot  reserved  by  Blackstone,  or 
assigned  to  him  in  1631,  and  that  appropriated  soon  after  his 
surrender  as  a  common  and  training-field,  and  of  his  six  acres 
to  part  of  that  conveyed  by  Copley  to  Harrison  G.  Otis  and 
Jonathan  Mason,  in  1796,  long  since  led  the  present  writer  to 
the  conclusion  that  our  beautiful  Common  was  no  other  than 
his  park  and  pasture ;  that  his  orchard  lay  close  by,  and 
was  substantially  the  same  laid  down  as  Bannister’s  gardens, 
on  Burgiss’  map  of  1728,  and  that  his  house  stood  on  the 
ground  bounded  by  Beacon,  Walnut,  and  Spruce  streets,  near 
to  which  latter  street  the  sea  then  ebbed  and  flowed. 

Under  the  impression  that  his  connexion  with  our  early 
history  was  too  interesting  an  episode  not  to  be  kept  in  mind, 
the  subje(5t  shaped  itself  into  the  present  form ;  and  whilst 
thus  engaged,  another  effort  was  made  to  procure,  if  possible, 
such  additional  light  as  the  Suffolk  Registry  afforded.  No 
conveyance  is  there  believed  to  be  recorded  of  the  six-acre 
lot  from  Blackstone,  none  to  Copley,  and  the  earliest  is  that 
of  the  Bracketts  to  Williams  and  Vial  in  1676,  from  whom,  in 
1709,  it  passed  to  Thomas  Bannister.  From  his  heirs,  by 
foreclosure  of  mortgages  or  other  process  of  law,  and  deed 
not  recorded,  it  eventually  came  to  Copley  before  1770.  The 
deposition  taken  in  1711  of  Mrs.  Ann  Pollard,  the  first  of 
Winthrop’s  company,  as  mentioned  in  the  text,  to  leap 
ashore  upon  the  peninsula,  and  who  lived  till  1725,  when 
she  had  reached  the  age  of  105,  states  that  Blackstone  sold 


8  WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE. 


his  homestead  to  Richard  Pepys,  who  built  a  house  on  the 
land,  of  which  her  husband  was  the  tenant,  and  possibly 
Pepys  may  have  occupied  another  himself  on  the  property. 
When  Copley  conveyed,  in  1796,  two  then  ancient  houses 
stood  upon  his  estate,  in  one  of  which  he  painted  many  of  his 
admirable  portraits,  and  there  his  distinguished  son,  Lord 
Chancellor  Lyndhurst,  was  born. 

The  area  then  actually  passing  came  nearer  to  twenty 
acres  in  all,  the  ordinance  of  1647  giving  ^proprietors  of  the 
upland  one  hundred  rods  below  high-water  mark. 

Pepys  may  have  gone  home  at  the  restoration  of  the  mon¬ 
archy,  or  earlier.  We  do  not  know  that  he  was  not  the  same 
Richard  Pepys,  cousin  of  Samuel,  the  entertaining  diarist, 
and  the  Irish  judge  of  1664,  from  whom  Lord  Cottenham, 
chancellor  in  1836-41,  and  a  successor  of  Lyndhurst,  de¬ 
scended.  It  would  be  agreeable  to  trace,  in  addition  to 
these  associations  of  great  legal  luminaries  with  the  spot,  yet 
another  of  the  kind,  and  discover  that  our  Blackstone  was 
of  the  same  family  as  his  namesake,  Sir  William,  the  dis¬ 
tinguished  commentator  on  the  Laws  of  England,  whose 
volumes  never  grow  old  and  are  ever  pleasant  to  read,  and 
who  was  born  in  London,  son  of  Charles,  in  1723,  and  died 
in  1780.  The  son  of  our  William  had  sons,  one  of  whom,  a 
lieutenant,  fell  at  the  siege  of  Louisburg,  in  1746.  The  only 
promising  clue  to  the  parentage  and  birthplace  of  our  first 
inhabitant  is  a  power,  in  1653,  of  Sarah  Blackstone  (Suffolk 
Deeds)  to  collect  money  advanced,  in  which  she  is  described 
as  of  Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  and  which  mentions  the  name  of 
Stevenson,  that  of  the  first  husband  of  Blackstone’s  wife. 

In  1638  the  authorities  granted  Blackstone  fifteen  acres  at 
Muddy  Brook,  now  Brookline,  then  a  part  of  the  town  of  Boston. 
He  may  have  continued  a  freeman  and  possibly  not  have 
sold  his  estate,  but  it  is  generally  presumed  that  he  left  with 
his  cattle  and  books  for  Rehoboth  in  the  spring  of  1635.  In 
a  house  he  called  Study  Hall,  a  few  rods  from  the  river 
now  bearing  his  name,  on  the  declivity  of  what  he  called 


WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE.  9 


Study  Hill,  about  sixty  feet  in  elevation,  he  resided  the  rest 
of  his  days.  Miantonimo,  nephew  of  Canonicus,  king  of  the 
Narragansetts,  Ocamsequin  or  Massasoit,  king  of  Wampa- 
noags,  were  his  friends,  as  also  their  sons  Canonchet  and  king 
Philip,  and  his  influence  may  have  averted,  during  his  life, 
the  calamity  of  Indian  hostilities  which  broke  out  soon  after 
his  death.  That  event  took  place  May  26,  1675,  when  he  had 
reached  the  age  of  fourscore. 

He  occasionally  visited  Boston  and  Providence,  and  preached 
in  the  latter  place,  and  at  Boston,  in  1659,  before  Gov.  Endi- 
cott,  married  Mrs.  Sarah  Stevenson,  widow  of  John,  who  died 
in  June,  1673.  His  only  child,  John,  sold  the  two  hundred 
acres  at  Rehoboth,  in  1693,  to  the  Whipples,  who  very  recently 
owned  them.  The  house,  barns,  and  books  —  nearly  two  hun¬ 
dred  in  number,  quartos  and  folios,  and  some  Latin  —  were 
burnt  by  the  Indians  in  1676,  one  of  their  few  victories  having 
been  gained  not  far  from  Study  Hill.  In  the  conflagration  of 
his  house  perished  his  manuscript  volumes  and  other  papers, 
very  possibly  of  great  interest.  His  grave,  near  the  site  of  his 
dwelling,  may  be  still  marked  by  stones  at  the  head  and  foot ; 
but  he  should  have  appropriate  monuments  raised  to  his 
memory  both  there  and  here. 

If  to  be  deplored  that  our  first  inhabitant  did  not  leave  his 
own  monuments  in  word  and  deed,  if  his  life  coursed  on  and 
left  no  waif  behind  it,  there  is  much  in  his  character  and  career 
for  respectful  admiration.  Conscientious,  noble,  and  gener¬ 
ous,  his  intellectual  pursuits,  love  of  nature,  cultivation  of 
the  earth,  and  subjection  of  the  lords  of  the  pasture  to  his 
bidding,  his  courage  and  faith  strike  sympathetic  chords. 
Nor  should  his  preference  of  seclusion  to  the  busy  world  be 
condemned  without  remembering  what  that  world  was  which 
he  abandoned.  A  self-complacent,  perfidious  tyrant  on  the 
throne,  besotted  with  indulgence,  merciless  from  impunity, 
robbing  his  subjects  to  enrich  favorites  that  imprisoned  or 
beheaded,  or  worse,  at  their  will  or  his  own ;  a  people  that 
tamely  submitted ;  a  Church  of  rite  and  dogma  without  Christi- 


IO  WILLIAM  B  LA  CHS  TONE. 


anity,  — from  this  seething  caldron  of  corruption  emerged  later 
the  furies  of  retribution ;  and  minister,  primate,  and  another 
king,  his  son,  quite  as  arbitrary,  went  to  the  block.  No  marvel 
that  the  howl  of  the  wild  beast  of  the  forestand  the  yell  of  the 
savage  lost  their  terrors;  or  that  the  good  seed  separated 
from  the  chaff  and  came  here  to  plant.  The  recluse,  grown 
sensitive  to  rude  contact  with  his  kind,  strove  in  vain  to  con¬ 
quer  his  repugnance  and  become  as  other  men.  He  negledted 
no  opportunity  to  do  them  service,  but  valued  too  highly  his 
own  independence  to  submit  to  their  dictation.  Circum¬ 
stance  and  Providence  had  circumscribed  his  paths,  and  he 
had  not  the  motive  and,  perhaps,  not  the  strength  to  open 
others  for  himself. 


WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE. 


IKlGH  on  an  eminence  he  stood, 

Hg*  His  thoughts  beyond  the  sea, 

For  he  had  left  his  native  land 
That  he  might  here  be  free,  — 

Free  from  the  thrall  of  unjust  laws, 

Far  from  a  despot  king, 

Prelates  whose  haughty  will  would  all 
To  like  subjedtion  bring. 

Too  true  and  honest  to  accept 
What  conscience  disapproved, 

Its  dictates  he  obeyed,  and  left 
All  that  at  home  he  loved. 

If  his  from  all  the  world  to  choose, 
Surely  no  lovelier  spot 
Than  where  our  three-hilled  city  stands 
To  dwell,  all  else  forgot. 

The  sylvan  scene  around,  beneath, 

He  claimed  it  as  his  own, 

Nor  cared,  while  Providence  protedts, 
That  he  was  there  alone. 

Not  quite  alone  ;  the  curling  smoke  — 
Near  hills  like  smoke  in  hue  — 
Marked  where  a  noble  sachem  dwelt, 
He  found  both  kind  and  true. 


12  WILLIAM  BLACKS  TONE. 


Save  him,  and  one  across  the  bay, 

One,  whose  island  home  lay  near, 

He  lived  a  solitary  man, 

No  kindred  soul  to  cheer. 

Nor  had  he  need  ;  his  well-stored  mind, 
Books  rich  with  precious  lore, 

His  sea-girt  home  of  hill  and  dale, 

He  asked  from  Heaven  no  more. 
Whatever  worth  his  while  to  know, 

Or  Old  World  could  impart, 

In  college  cloisters  he  had  learned,  — 

A  priest  of  guileless  heart. 

In  times  when  every  rank,  degree, 
Appropriate  garments  wore, 

His  priestly  garb  made  plain  to  sight 
The  sacred  name  he  bore. 

From  Merrymount  or  Plymouth  Rock 
Did  saint  or  sinner  stray, 

He  gave  them  of  his  frugal  meal, 

And  sped  them  on  their  way. 

The  mocker  stayed  his  ribald  jest ; 

The  Indian  bowed  his  head  ; 

All  recognized  the  man  of  God, 

Who  shared  with  him  his  bread. 

Years  came  and  went,  his  chief  delight 
To  watch  the  seasons  change, 

To  fish  or  fowl  along  the  shore, 

The  neighboring  hillsides  range  ; 

Cull  cress  and  herb,  and  mark  the  Spring 


WILLIAM  BLACKS  TONE.  I  3 


Her  measured  mazes  tread, 

Mayflower,  violet,  eglantine, 

Each  morn  new  odor  shed  ; 

Roses  from  home,  that  cherished  ties 
Kept  in  perennial  bloom, 

Carols  awakening  memories 
Which  living  forms  assume. 

He  roamed  the  woods,  and  tracked  the  deer 
Through  winter’s  drift  of  snow, 

Or  on  its  crust,  on  snow-shoes  glides 
With  every  pulse  aglow  ; 

Now  mid  the  summer  moonbeams  floats 
Upon  the  waters  wide 
That  washed  up  to  his  cottage  door, 

With  each  returning  tide. 

His  trees  in  spring  perfume  the  breeze, 

In  autumn  yield  their  fruit ; 

If  no  Eve  there  with  him  to  share 
No  serpent  bruised  his  foot, 

His  Eden  ground  requites  his  toil, 

Each  moderate  want  supplies  ; 

With  grateful  heart  received  what  sent, 

Nor  craved  what  God  denies. 

When  frosty  days  the  night  closed  in 
He  sought  his  sheltered  nook, 

Beside  the  blazing  logs  to  muse, 

Or  con  his  favorite  book. 

Little  he  dreamed  that  Copley’s  brush, 


14  WILLIAM  BLA  CHS  TONE . 

Where  stood  his  humble  cot, 

Should  one  day  magic  works  create, 
Not  to  be  soon  forgot. 

Yet  still  perchance,  as  lulled  the  storm, 
The  stirring  tones  he  hears 
Of  Lyndhurst,  matchless  in  debate, 
Thrice  chief  among  his  peers  ; 

Nor  only  famous  for  his  birth, 

His  eye  prophetic  scanned 
A  throng  of  men  since  known  to  fame, 
Whose  homes  stood  close  at  hand : 
Otis,  of  honeyed  eloquence  ; 

Channing,  from  heaven  astray  ; 
Prescott,  of  lucid  narrative  ; 

Motley  and  Phillips  play  ; 

And  merchant  princes,  bold  and  wise, 
Warm  heart  and  liberal  hand, 

Who  gathered  harvests  from  the  seas 
To  enrich  their  native  land. 

Might  one  but  tell  their  honored  names, 
Refinement,  culture,  worth, 

What  brighter  spot  than  his  own  home 
To  illuminate  the  earth  ? 

And,  as  the  flickering  embers  cast 
Strange  shadows  on  his  walls, 

The  dreamer  saw  those  walls  expand 
Into  palatial  halls, 

Where  golden  youth,  whose  thrifty  sires 
Worked  that  their  sons  might  play, 
With  merry  laugh  and  pleasant  chat 


WILLIAM  BLACKS  TOME.  I  5 

Beguile  the  hours  away. 

He  saw  before  their  windows  spread 
A  paradise  of  shade, 

Where  lake  and  turf  cooed  lovingly 
And  gleaming  fountains  played. 

And  all  around,  in  myriad  forms, 

A  glorious  city  grown, 

Of  thrice  a  hundred  thousand  souls, 

Whose  fame  through  earth  is  known  ; 

With  freedom,  faith,  and  culture  blest 
To  bloom  till  time  grows  old,  — 

The  fairest  rose  that  decks  our  orb 
"Were  half  its  marvels  told. 

Perhaps  the  lifted  clouds  disclosed 
Much  that  to  us  is  dim,  — 

A  future  much  more  wondrous  still 
Than  what  is  now  to  him. 

Met  not  alone  glad  themes  like  these 
Possessed  his  busy  thought, 

Which,  wandering  back  in  fancy,  traced 
What  all  such  marvels  wrought. 

A  nation  angry  with  its  king 
Who  would  a  tyrant  be  ; 

That  gory  head,  the  bloody  axe  ; 

Sure  now  they  must  be  free. 

Ah,  no  !  not  yet  the  lesson  taught, 

Not  yet  is  earned  the  prize, 

They  first  must  learn  to  rule  themselves, 

Be  honest,  just,  and  wise. 

Not  Cromwell,  with  his  gloomy  rule, 


1 6  WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE. 


Nor  Stuarts,  gay  or  trist, 

Orange  nor  Brunswick,  cared  to  know 
For  subjects  thrones  exist. 

Not  all  of  Marlborough’s  victories, 
Laurels  by  land  or  sea, 

Could  make  a  people  truly  great, 

Unless  both  good  and  free. 

Not  all  her  glowing  page  reveals, 

Her  statesmanship  has  won, 

Science  or  art  can  glorious  make 
With  half  her  work  undone. 

Though  every  realm  between  the  poles 
To  her  in  homage  vies, 

In  virtue,  happiness  broadcast, 

Alone  true  grandeur  lies. 

Time  crumbles  down  the  keep  and  fane 
Its  onward  progress  stop  ; 

The  generations,  grown  more  wise, 
Each  reign  some  shackle  drop, 

Till  knowledge,  its  inheritance, 

And  law  divine,  supreme, 

Our  father-land  the  Eden  be, 

Pictured  in  Blackstone’s  dream. 

All  that  can  chance  flits  by  in  dreams, 
As  Ariel  round  the  earth  ; 

But  limbs  grown  chill  admonishing, 
Fresh  fagots  heap  the  hearth. 

And  as  the  genial  flame  again 
The  cheerful  room  illumes, 


WILLIAM  BLA  CKSTONE .  I  7 

A  sense  of  comfort  came  once  more, 

And  he  his  theme  resumes. 

Now,  in  the  “Mayflower”  cabin  grouped, 

The  Pilgrims  sign  the  deed, 

Which,  basing  rule  on  equal  rights, 

Of  freedom  sowed  the  seed. 

Through  tribulations  dire,  that  seed, 

Like  winter  grain,  they  sow, 

As  nations  ripen  to  receive, 

The  earth  to  overgrow. 

He  sees  how  other  men,  like  him, 

Grown  weary  of  their  kind, 

Home,  friends,  and  country  all  forsake, 

In  other  lands  to  find. 

Many  for  whom  no  cover  laid, 

At  Nature’s  table  there, 

With  wife  and  child,  and  all  they  have, 

Hard  hand  and  heart  to  dare. 

He  sees  the  swiftly  speeding  bark, 

Fleets  wing  their  westward  flight, 

Till  where  the  beast  or  savage  roamed 
They  gather  in  their  might. 

Indians  in  vain  provoke  their  wrath, 

Frenchmen  in  vain  contend, 

Their  armies  Louisburg  reduce 
Or  Abraham’s  Heights  ascend. 

France  yields  the  realm  she  cannot  hold ; 

And  prostrate  every  foe, 


1 8  WILLIAM  BLA  CHS  TONE. 


They  claim  their  honest  rights  as  men, 
For  freedom  strike  the  blow. 

What  need  repeat  that  honored  roll, 
Who  fought  on  field  or  flood, 

Who,  sage  in  council  as  in  war, 

Sealed  their  brave  faith  in  blood  ? 

’Tis  not  alone  the  deathless  names 
That  glory’s  meed  deserve  ; 

Theirs,  though  obscure,  who  nobly  fell, 
Angels  above  preserve. 

No  prouder  heirloom  for  their  race 
Than  in  such  struggle  die, 

Which  gave  a  mighty  nation  birth, 
First-born  of  Liberty. 

And  as  imagination  paints 
Its  spread  from  sea  to  sea,  — 

Cities  and  states  of  wondrous  growth  ; 

Four  million  slaves  set  free,  — 

That  little  cot  seemed  all  too  small 
To  cage  so  bold  a  wing ; 

He  issued  forth  into  the  night, 

To  hark  the  seraphs  sing, 

Where  stars  on  stars,  in  lustrous  blaze, 
Decked  the  high  arch  above, 

And,  gazing  on  their  circling  orbs, 
How  could  he  doubt  God’s  love, 

Or  to  his  power  a  limit  fix, 

Or  to  his  will  to  bless? 


WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE.  1 9 

He  knew  that  he  was  infinite, 

And  his  law  happiness. 

Calm  and  subdued,  at  peace  with  Heaven, 

Sweet  sleep  his  being  fills  ; 

And  sunshine,  when  he  oped  his  door, 

Purpled  the  snow-clad  hills. 

Thus  glided  by  the  peaceful  life, 

He  hoped  might  never  change, 

When  rumors  came  across  the  sea, 

Tidings  of  purport  strange. 

Ten  years  had  passed  since  “  Mayflower  ”  brought 
The  Pilgrims  to  the  shore  ; 

And  now,  with  many  a  sister  bark, 

They  brijig  a  thousand  more  ; 

Of  generous  nurture,  brave,  devout, 

Women  of  high  degree, 

From  homes  of  ease  and  affluence, 

A  goodly  company. 

Beyond  the  stream,  where  Warren  fell, 

Rose  spacious  home  for  all ; 

And  long,  before  the  corn  grew  ripe, 

They  gathered  in  its  hall. 

Unused  to  hardship,  sorrowing 
For  friends  the  seas  divide, 

They  droop  and  sicken,  one  by  one  ; 

Even  their  physician  died. 

Grim  Death  appalled  some  frighted  souls, 

To  some  a  welcome  guest, 

The  wise  to  Providence  resigned, 


20  WILLIAM  BLACKS  TONE . 


However  sore  distressed. 

Their  barks  but  scanty  food  supplied  ; 
Untilled  as  yet  the  fields  ; 

And  soon  to  fevered  lips  the  spring 
No  more  refreshment  yields. 

It  was  a  sorry  sight  to  see, 

To  make  one’s  heart  to  bleed  ; 

How  could  a  Christian  man  unmoved 
Regard  such  urgent  need  ? 

His  springs  and  brooks  in  copious  streams 
With  crystal  waters  welled  ; 

He  gave  them  all  they  wished  and  more,  — 
Naught  but  his  farm  withheld. 

Yet  all  he  had  suffered  from  his  kind, 

He  could  not  quite  forget ; 

Too  dearly  loved  his  solitude 
To  lose  without  regret. 

We  found  him,  when  our  tale  began, 
Where  now  our  golden  dome 

Sheds  lustre  on  our  little  world, 

On  many  a  happy  home. 

The  hill,  then  loftier  far  than  now, 

Looked  out  upon  the  sea, 

Which  in  the  setting  sunbeams  glowed 
In  molten  brilliancy. 

And  as  he  gazed,  sad  memories  stole 
Of  all  his  days  before  ; 

Of  many  a  grief  to  wring  his  heart, 

And  disappointment  sore. 

When  left  to  nature  and  himself, 


WILLIAM  BLA  CKS  TONE .  2  I 


Life  had  been  pleased  content ; 

But  every  fibre  of  his  soul 

The  world  had  wrenched  and  rent. 
He  placed  implicit  trust  in  Heaven, 
And,  striving  to  do  right, 

Solace,  all  unexpected,  came, 

As  follows  day  the  night. 

If  dread  presentiments  of  ill 
Perplex  his  troubled  soul, 

He  fearlessly  submits  his  will 
To  that  supreme  control, 

Which,  thus  far  on  his  pilgrimage 
His  never-failing  guide, 

Will  not  forget  him  or  forsake, 
Whatever  chance  betide. 

His  heart  still  yearned  to  be  at  home  ; 

Familiar  faces  see  ; 

And  all  he  left  for  conscience’  sake 
In  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

That  sea,  as  set  the  parting  sun, 

The  gathering  darkness  shrouds, 
Whilst  western  skies  its  lingering  beam 
Heaps  high  with  gorgeous  clouds. 
Rose,  blue,  or  emerald,  every  tint 
Of  gold  or  flower  or  gem 
Mingled  or  gleamed  with  opal  change 
Alp,  throne,  or  diadem. 

It  was  a  glorious  spectacle, 

And,  as  entranced  the  view, 

The  omen  he  accepts  as  sent 


2  2  WILLIAM  BLA  CHS  TONE. 


His  courage  to  renew. 

With  swelling  heart  and  radiant  face 
He  marked  their  splendors  die  ; 

His  homeward  path  the  evening  star 
Beaconing  from  twilight  sky. 

When  once  resolved,  he,  wavering  not, 

His  invitation  gave, 

Which  to  that  haggard  crowd  appeared 
Like  rescue  from  the  grave. 

They  waste  no  time,  but  speedily 
Their  preparations  make, 

And,  ’ere  the  harvest  moon  has  waned, 
Their  way  across  they  take. 

The  first  that  leaped  ashore  lived  on 
Near  a  hundred  years  to  tell,  — 

Her  wrinkled  front  on  canvas  shows 
What  that  long  life  befel. 

Not  all  could  come,  —  some  quite  too  ill 
To  move  from  where  they  were  ; 

Bold  men  explored  the  higher  streams, 

Or  settled  Dorchester ; 

And  Salstonstall  to  Watertown, 

Dudley  to  Cambridge  guide,  — 

The  sires  to  countless  multitudes 
An  honest  source  of  pride. 

But  Winthrop  came,  and  hosts  whose  names 
Descendants  bear  to-day ; 

Johnson,  whose  loved  remains  they  bring, 


WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE.  23 

And  funeral  honors  pay  ; 

Wilson,  their  pastor,  best  of  guides 
Through  thorny  paths  to  steer, 

Who  cast  the  hated  vestments  off 
To  keep  his  conscience  clear ; 

Grave  men,  in  sober  garb  arrayed, 

Matrons,  both  wise  and  good, 

Young  men,  of  manly  form  and  port, 

And  fairest  maidenhood. 

Near  where  they  land,  and  friends  they  left, 
Some  habitations  reared, 

But  what  of  splendor  graced  the  place 
Has  long  since  disappeared. 

The  marts  of  trade  and  squalid  want 
Now  occupy  the  ground, 

Where  Mathers,  Hutchinsons,  Revere, 

Once  shed  their  lustre  round. 

And  fashion,  wandering  farther  west, 

Affedls  that  region  gay, 

Where  Boston’s  sole  inhabitant 
Passed  many  a  happy  day. 

Their  choicest  lot  they  gave  to  him, 

In  hearts  and  councils  first ; 

Its  wholesome  waters  flow  to-day 
As  when  they  quenched  his  thirst. 

At  equal  distance  from  its  gates, 

The  beacon  and  the  fort, 

The  country  roused  against  the  foe,  . 

Protects  their  infant  port. 


24  WILLIAM  BLACKS  TONE . 

The  briny  currents  ebbed  and  flowed, 
Freshening  the  air  around  ; 

Mingling  their  fragrance  with  the  flowers 
That  decked  his  garden  ground. 

His  modest  home  of  English  oak, 

Like  tents  the  Arabs  fold, 

Thrice  moved,  before  it  anchored  fast, 
Till  England  lost  her  hold 
On  this  broad  land  she  threw  away, 

Deaf  to  his  words  of  light, 
u  True  liberty  is  but  to  that 
Is  honest,  just,  and  right.” 

Her  vandal  soldiers  burnt  for  warmth 
Each  massive  beam  and  floor, 

Where  he  had  cordial  welcome  given 
Alike  to  rich  and  poor. 

His  brother  rulers  graced  his  board, 

And  many  an  Indian  chief ; 

That  there  he  Blackstone  entertained, 

Is  not  beyond  belief. 

Our  theme  is  Blackstone’s  history, 

Not  that  of  Winthrop’s  home  ; 

But,  standing  on  this  sacred  spot, 

The  words  unbidden  come. 

He  died  ;  and  after  Cotton  passed, 

That  gifted  man  in  prayer, 

Norton,  fed  his  flock,  and  here  abode 
Till  Heaven  called  him  there. 

In  dying  he  a  portion  gave 
His  widow,  all  the  rest 


WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE .  25 

To  raise  another  house  to  God, 

And  succor  the  distressed. 

Here  Stoughton  told  of  winnowed  seed, 

Sewall  confessed  his  fault, 

And  pious  pastors  by  the  score 
The  Infinite  exalt. 

Prince  wrote  his  annals,  books  collects 
Rare  and  of  price  untold  ; 

Some  went  to  kindle  Winthrop’s  house, 

Well  worth  their  weight  in  gold. 

Here  the  bold  eloquence,  that  fired 
The  heart  to  daring  deed, 

Denounced  the  tyrant  in  his  might, 

Our  blessed  country  freed. 

When  dusky  form  and  warwhoop  dread, 

And  steady  tramp  drew  near, 

To  throw  the  tea  into  the  sea, 

Its  crowded  thousands  cheer. 

See  Warren,  soldiers  rude  shut  out, 

Through  open  window  glide, 

Kerchief  on  pointed  muzzle  drop, 

His  foes  abashed,  defied. 

If  Faneuil’s  hall  its  cradle  be, 

This  church  is  Freedom’s  school  ; 

Both  teach  its  priceless  boon  to- gain, 

How  best  preserved  its  rule. 

Their  hallowed  walls,  in  spirit  tones, 

Repeat  each  honored  name  ; 

Those  glorious  voices  keep  alive 


26  WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE. 


The  telephone  of  fame. 

Yet  in  no  feeble  whispers  breathe, 

With  no  uncertain  sound, 

Their  bugle  notes  stir  valiant  hearts, 
Where  any  despot  found. 

Let  not  these  glorious  monuments, 

Of  word  and  adtion  brave, 

Be  swept  from  earth  while  freedom  lasts, 
Whilst  freemen  live  to  save. 

The  Ipswich  room,  where  Norton  prayed, 
Wrote  words  to  search  or  burn, 

Its  shelves  and  tables  all  remain, 

Awaiting  his  return. 

If  anarch  ever  rule  the  land, 

Or  tyrant  forge  the  chain, 

These  very  walls  will  be  a  power 
To  drive  them  forth  again. 

We  cannot  shape  our  destiny, 

Or  one  who  dearly  prized 
Religious  freedom,  human  right, 

Would  all  have  sacrificed, 

With  Eliot,  Hampden,  to  oppose 
Encroachments  of  the  crown, 

Bearing  his  part  as  valiantly, 

Winning  the  like  renown. 

But  no  such  glorious  task  like  this 
Vouchsafed  to  Blackstone’s  life  ; 

And  long  estrangement  from  his  kind 
Made  him  averse  to  strife. 

The  earnest  faith  the  Puritans 


WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE.  27 

In  daily  walks  displayed 
Awoke  an  echo  in  his  breast, 

On  simple  tenets  stayed. 

Though  all  the  land  was  his  by  law 
They  could  not  well  gainsay, 

He  as  a  freeman  took  his  part, 

Prayed  in  their  church  of  clay. 

Besides  his  fifty-acre  farm, 

And  six  he  dwelt  upon, 

He  made  them  welcome  to  the  rest, 

And  by  himself  lived  on. 

Later  that  farm,  from  then  till  now 
To  public  use  applied, 

He  gave  up,  all  contributing, 

To  be  our  special  pride. 

When  antinomians  disturbed 
The  peace  that  reigned  before, 

And  women  gathered  near  at  hand, 

On  husbands  closed  the  door, 

Dared  boldly  to  assert  their  right 
To  think  as  they  saw  fit, 

Deemed  grace  far  better  than  good  works, 

Free  will  than  holy  writ, 

Winthrop  would  fain  the  turmoil  still, 

As  other  men  of  sense  ; 

Sir  Harry  Vane  but  fanned  the  flame, 

To  make  it  more  intense. 

The  women  conquered.  At  the  helm 
Vane  steered  the  ship  of  state, 

And  would  have  wrecked  it  on  the  shoals, 


28  WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE. 


If  such  had  been  its  fate. 

Blackstone  loved  liberty  of  thought ; 

His  views  were  too  defined 
For  any  subtle  points  like  these 
To  fret  his  equal  mind. 

Perchance,  as  he  no  Rachel  had, 

It  served  but  to  amuse, 

And  heard  with  patience  either  side 
The  other  side  abuse. 

Not  so  when  Williams,  Gorton  came, 
With  views  more  like  his  own, 

And  Puritans  from  recent  strife 
Intolerant  had  grown, 

And  would  have  forced  him  to  conform 
To  rules  not  to  his  mind  ; 

He  grieved  to  think  that  freedom  gone 
He  had  lost  so  much  to  find. 

He  told  them  plainly  he  had  come 
Of  lord  bishops  to  be  rid, 

And  not  disposed  to  be  controlled 
By  lords  brethren  in  stead. 

Once  more  he  had  tried  to  love  his  kind, 
Place  faith  in  Christian  men  ; 

He  found  them  harsh,  unjust,  and  sought 
His  solitude  again. 

With  herd  and  book  he  wends  his  way 
Through  forests  dense  and  drear, 

And  by  the  stream  that  bears  his  name 
Abode,  no  neighbors  near. 


WILLIAM  BLACKS  TONE,  29 

When  later  Roger  Williams  came, 

Another  State  to  plant, 

Religious  liberty  proclaim, 

More  friends  he  did  not  want. 

Massasoit,  Miantonimo, 

Knew  well  his  modest  worth, 

Allowed  no  Indian  of  their  tribes 
Intrude  upon  his  hearth. 

Taste,  if  not  splendor,  graced  his  home. 

In  rural  labor  skilled, 

His  herds  and  flocks  fast  multiplied, 

His  barns  rich  harvests  filled. 

The  trees  he  planted  long  survived, 

Famed  for  the  fruit  they  bore, 

And  trace  remains  of  Blackstone,  dead 
Two  centuries  and  more. 

He  loved  his  books,  but  nature  too  ; 

Explored  the  country  wild, 

Mounted  upon  his  cream-white  steer, 
Submissive  as  a  child. 

As  age  advanced,  he  prized  less  dear 
An  independent  life, 

And,  yearning  for  companionship, 

It  blessed  him  in  a  wife  ; 

For,  often  thus  revisiting 
The  spot  so  long  his  home, 

His  steed  brought  back  a  blooming  bride, 

More  pleased  than  Jove’s  to  come. 

A  dozen  years  of  happy  days 
Of  mutual  love  had  flown, 


3  O  WILLIAM  BLA  CHS  TONE . 

Death  took  her  gently  from  his  side, 

Nor  wholly  left  alone. 

One  only  child  engrossed  his  thoughts, 
Yet  requited  ill  his  care, 

For,  when  at  fourscore  Blackstone  died, 
He  proved  a  spenthrift  heir. 

Thus  it  is  said  ;  but  portents  dark 
Shrouded  the  land  in  gloom 
As  Philip  struck  one  vigorous  blow 
To  stay  his  coming  doom. 

He  knew  full  well  that  lust  for  power, 
Greed  for  the  wilds  he  roved, 

Must  soon  exterminate  his  race, 

Unless  that  chance  improved. 

In  forest  glades  his  dusky  braves, 

Their  fiery  war-paint  dight 
Swoop  down  with  yell  and  purpose  fell 
Upon  the  towns  at  night ; 

Torch,  scalping-knife,  and  tomahawk 
Their  ruthless  vengeance  wreak  ; 

They  bravely  battled  with  the  strong, 
But  did  not  spare  the  weak. 

For  near  two  years,  with  varied  chance, 
The  bloody  strife  went  on  ; 

Their  foes  bought  traitors  in  their  camp, 
And  thus  the  vidtory  won. 

The  chiefs,  who  wisely  laid  their  plans, 
Fought  hard  on  many  a  field, 

Rallied  in  vain  their  shattered  bands, 
Too  proud  themselves  to  yield. 


WILLIAM  BLA  CKS  TONE .  3  I 

The  Narragansett  king  of  realms 
None  fairer  to  behold, 

Refused  to  barter  land  for  life, 

His  faithful  braves  for  gold. 

His  sole  request,  —  no  white  man’s  steel 
Should  pierce  his  fearless  breast,  — • 

Pequods  his  generous  spirit  sent 
Where  Indian  hunters  rest. 

Philip  well  knew  the  cause  was  lost, 

And,  saddened,  not  dismayed, 

Calmly  prepared  himself  for  death, 

Not  long  to  be  delayed. 

Eredt  upon  his  lofty  throne, 

Twixt  azure  sea  and  sky, 

He  took  one  last,  fond,  lingering  look, 

Then  bowed  his  head  to  die. 

Blackstone  lay  quiet  in  his  grave, 

But  the  tornado  swept 
House,  barns,  and  written  page  away 
The  world  were  richer  kept. 

The  son  less  frugal  than  the  sire, 

His  farm,  now  precious  grown, 

Passed  to  a  race  that  valued  it 
Because  once  Blackstone’s  own. 

His  grandson  fell  at  Louisburg, 

And  descendants  yet  may  be 
From  Shawmut’s  sole  inhabitant, 

To  love  his  memory. 


WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE .  33 


NOTES. 

{.Page  7.] 

The  following  deposition  of  Mrs.  Ann  Pollard  is  that  alluded  to  as 
identifying  Blackstone’s  house  as  situated  on  Beacon,  between  Walnut  and 
Charles  streets,  on  the  grounds  upon  Burgiss’s  map  of  1728,  set  down  as 
Bannister’s  gardens:  — 

“  The  deposition  of  Anne  Pollard,  of  Boston,  widow,  aged  about  eighty- 
nine  years.  This  deponent  testifyeth  and  saith :  that  this  deponent’s  hus¬ 
band,  Mr.  William  Pollard,  occupied  and  improved  a  certain  piece  or 
parcel  of  land  situated  near  the  bottom  of  the  Common,  at  the  westerly  part 
thereof,  in  Boston  aforesaid,  and  bounded  on  the  sea  south-west  for  many 
years ;  and  that  her  said  husband  had  hired  the  same  of  Richard  Peepys,  late 
of  Boston  aforesaid,  gentleman,  deceased,  who  often  told  this  deponent 
that  he,  the  said  Peepys,  bought  the  said  land  of  Mr.  Blackstone,  clerk, 
formerly  of  Boston  aforesaid ;  and  further,  that  deponent  saith  that  the  said 
Peepys  built  a  house  thereon,  wherein  this  deponent  and  her  said  husband 
dwelt  for  near  fourteen  years,  during  which  time  the  said  Blackstone  used 
frequently  to  resort  thereto ;  and  this  deponent  never  heard  any  controversy 
between  him  and  the  said  Peepys  about  the  said  land,  but  that  the  same  was 
always  reputed  to  belong  to  him,  as  this  deponent  understood;  and  she 
further  says,  that  soon  after  the  sale  thereof,  as  she  supposeth,  the  said 
Blackstone  removed  from  this  town  of  Boston;  and  further  saith  not. 

“ANNE  POLLARD. 

“  Boston,  December  26,  1711.” 

[Page  7,] 

Charles  river,  so  named  for  the  unfortunate  monarch  who  expiated 
his  father’s  faults  and  his  own  on  the  scaffold,  was  called  by  the  Indians 
Quinobequin. 

[Page  11.] 

Chickatabut,  whose  conveyance  of  the  peninsula  and  lands  to  the  colonists 
in  1630  was  confirmed  by  his  grandson,  Wampatuck,  in  1684-5. 

[Page  12.] 

Thomas  Walford,  at  Mishawum,  now  Charlestown;  David  Thompson 
died  1628,  at  the  island  now  bearing  his  name  and  occupied  by  the  Farm 
School;  Samuel  Maverick  lived  at  what  is  now  known  as  East  Boston. 


34  WILLIAM  BLACICSTONE. 


[Page  13.] 

Merry  Mount,  near  Mount  Wollaston,  where  Thomas  Morton  held  his 
revels. 

{Page  13.] 

According  to  tradition,  roses,  of  English  varieties,  adorned  the  garden  of 
Blackstone.  In  “  Merrymount,”  Motley  describes  him  as  riding  on  a  bull. 
This  is  possible,  since  cattle  were  sent  to  the  colonies  at  Strawberry  Bank, 
on  the  coast  of  Maine,  to  Cape  Ann  and  Plymouth,  between  1620  and  1630; 
and  Maverick,  no  doubt,  had  many  on  his  island.  That  Blackstone  broke  in 
a  bull  to  bit  and  bridle,  and  scampered  upon  its  back  over  his  domain,  then 
consisting  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  acres,  is  not  impossible,  or,  perhaps, 
improbable ;  but,  as  his  riding  later  about  his  new  home  at  Rehoboth,  and  in 
visiting  Providence  and  Boston  on  such  an  animal  of  the  color  mentioned, 
is  well  authenticated,  the  earlier  bull  may  be  a  myth.  The  text,  endeav¬ 
oring  to  be  historically  accurate,  reluctantly  refrains  from  an  incident, 
which,  if  it  rested  upon  more  reliable  tradition,  would  add  another  interest¬ 
ing  association  with  the  earliest  settlement  of  our  city. 

[Page  14.] 

The  house  at  the  corner  of  Walnut  and  Beacon  streets  was  built  by  John 
Phillips,  first  mayor  of  Boston,  and  father  of  the  distinguished  orator.  The 
father  of  John  Lothrop  Motley,  when  the  historian  was  a  boy,  lived  on 
Walnut  street,  opposite  the  head  of  Chestnut;  Dr.  Channing  on  Mount 
Vernon,  Otis  and  Prescott  on  Beacon. 

[Page  14.] 

Blackstone  in  his  vision  may  be  supposed  to  have  recognized  many  other 
celebrities,  local  or  world-renowned,  connected  with  the  future  of  his  farm, 
whose  names  are  household  words.  But  too  many  are  living  to  warrant  an 
allusion  to  them.  Francis  Parkman  and  Charles  Francis  Adams  are  too 
widely  known  for  reserve;  McLean,  whose  name  attaches  to  one  of  our 
charities  he  contributed  largely  to  found,  and  David  Sears,  whose  generous 
benefactions  relieve  hundreds  of  the  worthy  poor,  with  scores  of  more, 
familiar  from  their  munificence,  public  service,  and  local  influence,  have 
dwelt  or  dwell  now  within  its  limits  or  near  by. 

[Page  19.] 

Seventeen  vessels  came  in  May  and  June,  chiefly  to  Salem,  whence  a  large 
part  of  the  colonists  moved  to  Charlestown.  A  large  house  had  been 
ereCted  there  for  their  accommodation  on  the  Square.  It  was  afterwards 
used  for  a  tavern,  and  burnt  on  the  day  of  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  Dr. 
Gager  died  on  the  22d,  and  Isaac  Johnson,  whose  wife  was  Arbella,  daughter 
of  the  Earl  of  Lincoln,  on  the  30th  of  September.  Johnson  was  buried  in 
the  Chapel  burying-ground,  part  of  his  own  lot. 


WILLIAM  B  LA  CHS  TONE.  35 


IP  age  22.] 

North  Square  was  till  recent  days  the  centre  of  many  handsome  residences 
—  Hutchinson’s  and  Sir  Henry  Frankland’s  being  the  most  costly  and  mem¬ 
orable. 

[Page  23.] 

The  lot  assigned  to  Winthrop  was  nearly  identical  with  that  owned  by 
the  Old  South  Congregation  before  their  recent  removal  to  Dartmouth 
street.  It  extended  from  Spring  lane  to  Milk  street,  from  Washington  to 
the  lane  once  known  as  Jolliffe’s,  now  Sewall  place.  The  house  eredted  by 
Winthrop  stood  on  the  north,  or  Spring  lane  side,  of  the  property.  It  was 
used  for  a  century  as  the  parsonage,  and  burnt  during  the  siege  of  Boston 
by  British  soldiers,  in  1775,  for  fuel. 

[ Page  25.] 

Sewall  confessed  his  fault  for  hanging  the  witches,  in  meeting-time, 
before  the  assembled  congregation. 

[Page  29.] 

Blackstone’s  orchard  in  Boston  was  well  grown  when  he  left  Boston  for 
Rehoboth,  where,  about  his  abode  at  Study  Hill,  he  owned  two  hundred 
acres,  and  more  in  the  neighborhood  of  Providence.  His  son  John  sold 
to  Mr.  Whipple,  whose  descendants  still  hold  or  did  till  recently. 

[Page  29.] 

The  story  of  Jupiter,  the  white  bull,  and  Europa  is  well  known  to  classi¬ 
cal  scholars. 

[Page  31.] 

Canonchet,  soon  after  the  battle  of  the  plains,  near  Blackstone’s  abode,  in 
March,  1676,  left  his  army  of  fifteen  hundred  men,  with  a  slender  following, 
to  procure  seed-corn  at  Seekonk.  The  7th  of  April  he  was  surprised  at 
Study  Hill  and  captured,  and  was  carried  to  Stonington.  He  declined  all 
overtures  for  surrendering  his  own  and  his  people’s  territory  in  exchange  for 
his  life,  only  praying  his  captors  that  his  death-blow  might  be  speedily  given 
by  Uncas,  a  sagamore  of  the  Pequods.  It  was  not  so  ordered;  but,  in  the 
presence  of  Major  Denison,  the  Pequods  shot  him ;  Mohegans  cut  off  his 
head,  quartered  and  dismembered  his  body;  Ninnicroft’s  men  burnt  the 
remains,  except  the  head,  which  they  presented  to  the  council  at  Hartford. 
His  principal  residence,  as  that  of  his  father,  Miantonimo,  is  believed  to 
have  been  Taminy  Hill,  in  Newport,  his  dominions  extending  over  the 
islands  and  westerly  shore  of  Narragansett  Bay. 


2,6  WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE. 


\Page  31.] 

King  Philip,  sachem  of  Pokanoket,  youngest  son  of  Ocamsequin,  or 
Massasoit,  succeeded  his  brother  Alexander  as  king  of  the  Wampanoags  in 
1657.  His  policy  was  to  drive  the  English  into  the  sea  and  recover  the 
country  for  the  Indian  tribes.  Sausaman,  his  secretary,  and  a  convert  of 
John  Eliot’s,  betrayed  his  plans  to  his  enemies.  Two  traditions  exist  as  to 
his  death :  one,  that  he  was  slain  by  Church’s  men,  Saturday  morning, 
August  12,  1676,  in  a  swamp,  while  attempting  to  escape;  the  other,  upon 
Mount  Hope,  as  related  in  the  text.  Mount  Hope,  in  Bristol,  overlook¬ 
ing  Narragansett  Bay  and  the  sea,  was  one  of  his  abodes;  Long  Pond,  at 
Rainham,  near  the  old  home  of  the  Leonards,  another.  Annawan,  chief  of 
the  council  of  Philip,  and  his  best  general,  was  captured,  August  28th,  at 
Squannecook  marsh,  in  Rehoboth,  by  Church,  who  endeavored  to  save  his 
life.  He  did  not  succeed,  and  Annawan  was  beheaded  at  Plymouth,  Tuo- 
paquin,  a  noble  Massachusetts  warrior,  captured  later,  being  his  companion 
in  death. 

As  the  forms  were  going  to  the  press,  “  Merrymount,”  read  many  years 
ago,  came  to  light  from  an  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  writer’s  shelves. 
His  attempt  to  render  more  familiar  to  present  generations  what  has  been 
transmitted  of  the  hermit  of  Shawmut  would  have  been  discouraged  had 
Motley’s  vivid  and  complete  account  of  him  been  remembered.  Some  sup 
posed  incidents  will  be  found  both  in  the  novel  and  poem ;  but  in  the  latter 
they  were  not  borrowed  from  the  former,  but  suggested  by  the  subject  com¬ 
mon  to  both.  The  reader  of  the  novel  will  take  especial  delight  in  this  early 
scintillation  of  a  genius  which  has  since  commanded  the  admiration  of  the 
world.  The  situation  of  Blackstone’s  abode  in  the  book  accords  with  that 
determined  beyond  all  farther  controversy  by  the  deposition  of  Mrs.  Pollard. 
For  the  moose-colored  bull  on  which  the  novel  mounts  the  sole  inhabitant 
is  claimed  historical  proof,  and  his  solitude  is  cheered  by  a  fawn,  possibly 
no  creature  of  the  imagination,  but  an  actuality,  as  the  minotaur,  supported 
by  evidence. 

In  the  haste  of  preparation  for  the  Fair  there  was  little  opportunity  for 
examination  of  the  title  on  the  records,  and  the  Registry  has  not  sufficient  to 
reveal,  to  render  it  very  clear.  Since  our  first  impression  of  these  papers, 
the  interesting  articles  of  Gleaner,  or  Mr.  Nathaniel  Bowditch,  the  accom¬ 
plished  conveyancer,  upon  the  titles  of  Beacon  Hill,  prepared  in  1855  for  the 
“Transcript,”  have  been  lent  me  by  another  of  our  ablest  antiquarians. 
They  do  not  shake  the  conviction  that  Blackstone  selected  his  abode  on  the 
place  indicated  near  the  water,  on  the  south-western  declivity  of  the  triple- 
crested  hill,  which  gave  Boston  one  of  its  names.  The  tide  then  flowed  at 
least  ten  rods  east  of  Charles  street,  at  its  junction  with  Beacon,  and  as  his 


WILLIAM  BLA  GKS  TONE.  3  7 


reservations  of  fifty  acres  and  of  six  later  were  near  his  residence,  it  is  rea¬ 
sonable  to  presume  that  his  house  stood  somewhere  between  Charles  and 
Walnut,  and  of  course  possibly  below  Spruce.  There  is  a  difference  of 
opinion  as  to  his  orchard,  whether  the  same  as  Bannister’s,  or,  what  seems 
less  probable,  Humphrey  Davy’s,  higher  up  the  hill. 

The  land  conveyed  by  Copley  in  1796,  182,  f.  182-184  and  191,  f.  168,  in¬ 
cluded  two  other  parcels  besides  that  which  belonged  to  Blackstone.  His 
lot  of  six  acres  extended,  according  to  the  authority  cited,  to  a  point  not  far, 
if  any,  above  Spruce  street,  and  extended  about  eight  hundred  feet,  nearly  to 
Pinckney  street,  embracing  Louisburg  square,  and  westerly  down  to  the 
channel.  According  to  the  deposition  of  Mrs.  Pollard,  Blackstone  sold  to 
Richard  Pepys,  who,  with  Mary  his  wife,  by  deed  not  recorded,  in  which  he 
describes  himself  as  of  Ashon  in  the  county  of  Essex,  conveyed  to  Nathaniel 
Williams  in  1655.  Mary,  widow  of  Williams,  with  her  second  husband, 
Peter  Brackett,  bestowed  the  estate  and  another  above  it  (the  East  lot)  upon 
her  son,  by  Williams,  another  Natlianiel,  and  his  sister,  Mrs,  Vial,  in  1676,  4,  f. 
264,  from  whom  it  passed  in  1709,  24,  f.  103,  to  Thomas  Bannister.  Samuel, 
son  of  Bannister,  mortgaged  it,  and  without  any  recorded  conveyance  the 
title  of  Copley  was  shown  in  court  to  be  good. 

Next  above  Blackstone,  on  what  is  now  Beacon  street,  lay  the  posses¬ 
sion  of  Francis  East  (2,  f.  116)  of  about  three  acres,  which  Mary,  widow 
and  administratrix,  sold  Thomas  Bannister,  1694,  17,  f.  23,  a  lot  about  240  X 
610,  lying  above  Spruce  street;  this  passed  with  the  other  lot  to  Copley. 
Farther  up  the  hill  a  third  parcel  of  what  Copley  purchased  and  conveyed 
had  formed  earlier  part  of  the  Elm  pasture  of  Judge  Sewall,  who  died  seized 
in  1729.  Richard  Truesdale  originally  possessed  it,  and  it  passed  1667, 5,  f.  234 ; 
through  Deane,  1672,8,  f.  62;  Whetcomb,  1678;  Hawkins,  1690,  15,  f.  46; 
Savage,  1692,  15,  f.  1S3,  to  Sewall,  vesting  by  virtue  of  intermediate  deeds  of 
Bagnall,  1744;  Lucy,  1744;  Erving,  1752;  Cunninghams,  1751*  17S3,  and 
those  of  Sylvester  Gardiner  in  1770,  and  John  Williams  in  1773  to  himself, 
in  Copley.  It  included  a  gore  of  land  east  of  Walnut  conveyed  to  Dr  Joy, 
194,  f.  116,  whose  estate  then  extended  east  to  the  street  bearing  his  name, 
and  from  Beacon  to  Mt.  Vernon,  being  also  a  part  of  the  Elm  pasture.  The 
area  of  that  pasture  in  1732  was  estimated  at  four  acres  and  three  quarters, 
measuring  440  feet  in  front  by  490,  its  greatest  depth. 

The  area  bounded  by  Beacon,  Mt.  Vernon,  Walnut  to  the  east,  and 
Spruce  and  Willow  to  the  west  is  about  500  feet  square  or  six  acres.  From 
Spruce  to  160  feet  above  Charles  on  Beacon,  about  where  was  once  high- 
water  mark,  is  nearly  300  feet,  front  BeaCort  to  Pinckney  about  850,  and 
300  X  850  is  about  six  acres.  The  land  claimed  by  the  Overseers  of  the 
Poor  as  part  of  the  Pemberton  trust  under  mortgages  of  the  rear  lots  of 
the  Phillips  pasture,  which  pasture  bounded  north  on  Cambridge  street 
ran  along  shore  about  1,100  feet  to  Blackstone  on  the  south,  lay  west  of 
Louisburg  square  between  that  and  the  water.  As  measurements  are  rarely 
stated  in  these  ancient  deeds,  and  fences  being  perishable  no  reliable  mon- 


38  WILLIAM  BLACKSTONE. 


uments  always  existed,  much  had  been  left  for  conjecture.  Neither  quantities 
nor  dimensions  estimated  on  slopes  hold  out  when  reduced  to  a  level. 

It  had  been  argued  that  Blackstone  resided  on  L-ouisburg  Square,  for  the 
reason  that  there  still  exists  a  copious  spring.  Shawmut  signifies  a  place 
of  springs,  and  water  courses  abounded  all  around  its  hills.  Surely  that 
which  fed  the  old  Frog  Pond,  and  drained  the  south-western  slopes  of  Bea¬ 
con  Hill,  was  as  convenient  as  that  farther  north  for  Blackstone.  What 
induced  Winthrop  to  come  over  from  Charlestown  was  that  on  Spring  Lane 
near  the  Old  South. 

It  does  not  seem  reasonable  that  Blackstone  should  have  selected  so  bleak 
a  spot,  or  one  so  elevated,  for  his  abode  as  Louisburg  square.  A  place  on 
the  south-west  declivity  of  the  hill  near  the  water  seems  more  probable. 
As  his  fifteen  acres  at  Muddy  Brook  in  1638  were  allotted  for  three  heads, 
he  may  then  have  had  other  persons  in  his  household,  and  a  new  house  not 
on  the  precise  site  of  his  earlier  dwelling. 


